George McFly's Strange Time Traveling Adventure
by Mariadoria
Summary: George McFly, without knowing what he was doing, crawled into the DeLorean and managed to get transported through time to 1985. Now, he has to get home, deal with a certain Tannen, and worry about leaving Lorraine at the Under the Sea dance. OLD STORY.


Marty's footsteps echoed down the stairwell as he prepared to leave the school building. Just as he was about to turn the corner, the door swung open at the top of the stairwell. A pair of heeled shoes clicked over the landing, and another pair of softer shoes followed. He turned and headed back up to meet Lorraine Baines and George McFly, who also happened to be his parents. And witness to a rather wild performance of a song not to come out for three years.

"Lorraine," Marty said, looking around nervously and wishing he had a watch, aware of how close it was getting to the lightning striking the clock tower. Lorraine looked him over and then into his eyes, all while holding tight onto George's arm, who looked very contented indeed.

"Marty," she said, "that was very interesting music."

Marty put his hands in his pockets and started to rock on the balls of his feet, a clock beginning to tick ominously in his head. "Uh, yeah."

Lorraine turned her gaze to George and then back to Marty. "I hope you don't mind, but George asked if he could take me home tonight." A relieved look swept over Marty's face, his eyes brightening immediately. So, he wasn't going to vanish in 1955. Always a good thing in his book.

"Great, good, good Lorraine. I have a feeling about you two."

"I have a feeling too," gushed Lorraine, positively head over heels for George.

George felt like his heart had just migrated into his throat.

"Listen, I've got to go, but I've got to tell you, it's been educational." The clock was louder in his head now.

Lorraine stopped him as he turned to leave by saying: "Marty, will we ever see you again?" Marty smirked.

"I guarantee it."

George spoke up for the first time in the exchange, still quite breathless with disbelief at the evening's events. "Well, Marty, I want to thank you for the good advice. I'll never forget it.

"Right, George. Well, good luck you guys." Marty began to head down the stairs, before turning around as if he had an afterthought. "Oh, and one other thing. If you guys ever have kids and one of them accidentally sets the lounge rug on fire when he's eight, go easy on him," Marty shot one more meaningful look at them and hurried on down the stairs. A strange look passed over George's face. It disappeared when Lorraine rested her head on his shoulders.

"Marty, such a nice name," sighed Lorraine. George glanced at her and then back at the stairs that Marty just went down. His eyes narrowed, thinking over strange science-fiction scenarios and weighing the possibility that he was in the middle of some new type of television show. He doubted it.

George found it suspicious how Marty was always disappearing to places. Especially now, when this dance was all he was talking about for the past week and a bit. Granted, he was talking about getting George and Lorraine together, but to make such a hasty exit was uncalled for. The strange performance would garner a few stares, but he could stay and enjoy the evening a bit more.

"Lorraine, I'm just going to go and call him back," he said. She took her head off his shoulder.

"Why would that be?" Her voice still sent flutters through his stomach to this day.

"The least he could do is stay for the evening. The dance isn't even half over yet." Lorraine looked on in consideration of his proposal.

"I guess it's a good thought. But I'm only dancing with you, George. Go on, go and get him. Soon you won't be able to catch him." She made shooing gestures with her hands and flashed him a brilliant, white smile. He gave her one back and hastened down the stairs, throwing the door open. He didn't hear the grunt from behind it.

George caught a glance of a fleeing Marty just around the corner, jacket and tie already flapping in his hands.

"Marty!" he called out. Marty didn't hear him, just kept on running out of the school grounds and towards the town hall, which was very close to the school. George figured Marty was going there and elected to follow him. They would be back at the dance within five minutes and he would have Lorraine back in his arms. He called again, but Marty didn't turn around or acknowledge he was there.

Soon he was standing in the middle of the town square, watching Marty dress in the strange orange life-preserver George first saw him wearing. When Doc Brown appeared from behind something covered in a tarpaulin, wires trailing from his hands, George ducked down and peered over the hedge. A cold wind rustled his hair.

George felt a flash of exhilaration when Doc Brown dropped the wires and pulled the tarp back from the strange object. Marty helped him and they revealed a silver car that looked like it belonged in a science-fiction comic. They backed it off of the trailer and turned it around on the road, talking to each other in muffled voices. The late hour didn't seem to deter them in the slightest.

George was puzzled when Doc Brown bundled up the wires and headed over to the town hall and the clocktower, Marty following close behind. They seemed caught up in what they were doing, not looking behind them, too busy hooking stuff up and doing things that were most likely illegal. Running his hands over his hair, careful not to put a strand out of place, George turned back to the strange silver mechanism that resembled a very futuristic car.

Shooting a furtive glance at the Marty and Doc Brown, George crept over to the car, staying low so as not to be seen. Getting Marty back to the dance was now a secondary aim to investigating the strange device. George reached it and ran his hands over the passenger side of the car, feeling the metal and recognising it as aluminum. An odd material for a car.

The door opened upwards when he pushed his hand under the door handle, knocking him backwards into the street. Grounding himself, George stood up and brushed off his white suit jacket. Curiosity gripped him like a vice and he crept forward, thinking that this was even stranger than Darth Vader from Planet Vulcan.

Inside the car was a strange, glowing device and he found himself creeping in to get a better look, unaware of Marty rushing towards the car. It fascinated him and he found himself closing the door to be better immersed in the device. To the front was a metal box with coloured numbers being displayed.

Muffled voices sounded from outside, sounding very urgent. George whipped his head up in panic. Here he was, stuck in a strange machine that looked like a car and most likely was one. He couldn't be discovered here, and he had a dance to go back to. Someone put there hand on the back of the car and George's eyes widened. He was really in the thick of it now.

"What to do, what to do," he muttered. Feeling around on the floor revealed a dark blanket and a cavity under the dashboard that would probably be ideal for hiding in. With nothing better to do, George threw the blanket over him and stashed himself in the hiding place, making sure that none of his white suit was showing. His breathing was heavy, though more with disbelief at the situation his curiosity had twined him into.

The door snapped open, hissing, and Marty hopped into the car, shutting the door with the slam. He muttered to himself as he placed a clock on the dashboard. George couldn't hear much of what he was saying, as his head was buried in a corner. Marty looked around the car and pressed the accelerator down. George pressed himself further into the cavity and prayed that Marty didn't find him there.

The car spun violently around and George heard Marty muttering, something about giving himself ten minutes. George's thoughts immediately shot to time machines and all that fanciful stuff, though this was rather short of those glorious ideas and theories, just a car made to look futuristic. At least, that was what he thought.

Suddenly, George heard the motor shut down. Marty groaned, turning the key several times to no avail, just a failing engine. The clock started ringing and Marty banged his head against the steering wheel. The engine roared back to life, giving George the fright of his life. Marty slammed the accelerator down and the car began zooming along the road, far faster than anything George had ever ridden in or driven. He was having trouble staying forward and out of sight, having to really press himself against the front of the cavity.

His thoughts flashed to the cinema at the end of the road and his eyes widened. Marty was going to crash into it and he could do nothing about it if he didn't want to be discovered. George considered his options and was about to jump up when he heard electricity buzzing around the car. It shut him up, sent ice through his veins. Car weren't meant to be electrified. Never. The car was going to explode.

A huge boom was heard and a flash whipped through the car as lightning hit the clock tower. George's eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp breath. Dots were connecting. The lightning, however they knew it was going to hit the clocktower, was going to travel down the wire and into the car. They were going to be electrified. George was going to die. He was going to die. What the hell was Marty doing?

Suddenly, Marty hit the brakes swerved to the right. George flailed around, trying to stay hidden, his eyes shut tight. Maybe he wasn't going to die?

The tentative question stayed there as Marty opened the door with urgency and rushed out, leaving the car sitting in the middle of the street with doors open. George pushed the blanket off from over him and decided that the dance would be fine, there was no need to try and drag Marty back. He could just go to back to Lorraine and…

George stopped dead in his tracks and his jaw dropped as he saw the town square. It was _different. _Looked older, somehow. He stumbled around, and almost fell to his knees when he saw the fire trails coming from the back of the car. He dove back into the car and almost wilted when he saw the words around the coloured numbers. _Time. _

He staggered back in disbelief. This was not the Hill Valley he knew, nor was it one he wanted to know. It was a junky place, the brand new cinema now decrepit and the record store with strange devices in the windows.

A homeless man was sleeping on a bench, clutching a filthy newspaper. In a second George grabbed it and looked at the date, eyes almost popping out of there sockets.

_October 26, 1985._

1985.

1985.

He was thirty years in the future.

And he had no damn idea how it happened.

* * *

George staggered back at the implications. He was in another time. That just didn't happen in normal people's lives, and he was about was normal and awkward as you could get. There was just no way he could accidentally hop inside a time machine and end up in another time with this person named 'Calvin Klein.' It just didn't happen, especially not to him. It was something that happened in his favourite shows, and in his books, not in real life.

"Damn it, Calvin, what are you doing?" he said, taking his jacket off. Perhaps this was some elaborate prank. If it was, then he was going to chase after Calvin and find out what the hell this was about, because he didn't need this right now.

His jacket in hand, George ran after the fleeing person, whose orange jacket was disappearing around the corner. Running was not his forte, but he managed to keep up with Calvin, who seemed desperate to get somewhere, judging by the awfully frantic way he was running.

The streets he was sprinting through, they were different. The shops seemed all futuristic, and the road, which was supposed to be newly sealed, was old and grey, patched all over. When he sprinted past the Town Hall, he almost stopped in astonishment. It was _different. _But he didn't have time for stopping. This place looked like it was sticking around, and Calvin held the answers at the moment.

George caught up with Calvin at some place called 'Lone Pine Mall.' It was in the same place that Peabody used to live, so George was immensely puzzled.

Gunfire and shouts echoed around the carpark and George crept forward, careful to keep out of Calvin's sight. Dread was written all over George's face as he watched a combi van with a man toting a gun on the top rip through Doc Brown, the local eccentric man. What made his eyes widen was what he saw down in the carpark. The same car he'd just been in was sitting there, and a person was climbing into it, dressed in yellow.

The person turned to look back and Calvin almost shouted out in disbelief. It was Calvin. The now apparent time machine sped up the longer it was chased around the car park, with a Minigun shredding the ground where it just was. Shrieks of anger came from the men in the van, and George watched in astonishment as Calvin drove the car towards a box, he was going to crash. Lightning began to crackle around the car, and George fell back when it disappeared with a bang, leaving a trail of fire behind the car. The combi van crashed into the box and went up in flames.

Calvin ignored this and ran down the back, tearing towards Doc Brown. George stayed up and watched, his thirst for answers sated. What he had just witnessed was explanation enough that he was somehow thirty years in the future, never going to see Lorraine again and marooned. This was his worst nightmare, even though he didn't know it until this exact moment. Damn it, why couldn't he have just stayed with Lorraine at the dance, everything would be fine and dandy, no need to nifty time traveling adventures.

* * *

Marty rushed over to Doc, his hands sweating, tears pricking his eyes. It wasn't meant to happen like this. Doc was meant to find the note and live, not die just the same. His efforts, all of them, were for nothing. Futile, just like Lorraine's efforts to kiss him. Doc was dead all over again. He'd just witnessed one of his closest friends be mowed down by heartless men and he couldn't save them.

"Doc," he cried, voice broken. "No." He sat down, turning away from Doc's fallen body. He'd failed. There was nothing more he could do. Doc was dead because he couldn't warn him. His breath was visible in the air is was so cold, but Marty felt his resolve shattering.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Marty saw movement. His head flicked around and his eyes widened. Doc was sitting up with a look of disbelief on his face, seemingly unaffected by the bullets sent at him. They were meant to kill. But Doc was alive.

"You're alive," he breathed. Doc looked startled as Marty was, before unzipping his radiation suit to reveal a damaged but not penetrated Bulletproof vest. "A bulletproof vest. How did you know? I never got a chance to tell you." Still, Doc said nothing, just reached into his pocket and drew out an ancient letter, held together by sellotape. It was written in Marty's handwriting. _The letter._

"What about all that talk, about screwing up future events? The space time continuum?" Marty asked, eyes sparkling. Doc shrugged.

"Well, I figured, what the hell." Marty leapt forward and embraced the man in a hug, one that can only be achieved after you think someone has died and then come back to life. The moment was ruined by someone at the top of the hill shouting, "YES!" and then making a noise of exclamation.

Marty turned over to the hill and felt his eyes widen as someone wearing a white top and black pants tumbled down the foliage covered slope, making noises of hurt all the way along. Doc released himself from Marty's embrace and turned around, glancing between the figure and Marty's dumbfounded face.

"No, this cannot be happening right now," he muttered, as the figure dusted himself off and stood up, grinning like a lunatic at Marty, who was sure his heart was about to jump out of his throat. Oh, this was heavy, too heavy for a moment like this.

"Marty," said Doc, warning evident, "what did you do?" Marty was still speechless.

"Calvin!" George called out, his ruffled from his fall through foliage. "I've been meaning to ask you, how to I get back to 1955?" Marty honestly felt flabbergasted. Somehow, George McFly, his father, who belonged in 1955, was here in 1985, and it was not something he felt so inclined to fix at the moment. Time travel was off limits for at least another week. He didn't feel like vanishing again, that could wait for the next week.

He looked down at his hands, which were still very intact. He couldn't see the pavement through them, so that was at least a good sign. Finally finding his voice, Marty spoke out, though his voice was croaky.

"George, what are you doing here?" he asked. "How did you get here?" George made a funny face at Marty, while Doc still looked thunderstruck. Marty feared a 'Great Scott' was going to come any second now.

"I thought that would have been rather obvious, Calvin. I crept into your time machine doohickey and ended up here. That was a rather conveniently placed blanket, I have to say. Now, is there a way for me to get back? I would like to see Lorraine again. That would be nice. So can you just drive to 1955 again and drop me off?"

"No, he can't just drop you off, this machine is powered by plutonium. I apparently died for it, in the other timeline," Doc interrupted. George recoiled, and then crouched down, looking contemplative.

"Well, Calvin, there has to be something that you can do. Can I meet your family while I'm here. I guess the thing about time machines is that you can stay in one place for as long as you want to and then go back to exactly the time you need to go to."

Marty finally found his voice. "Okay, one, you can't meet my family. Second, my name is actually Marty, it feels weird being called Calvin in my home time. Like, Calvin is 1955, Marty is 1985. But why were you in the Delorean in the first place?"

"Oh, so it's called the Delorean, is it. That is one of the coolest names I've ever heard. I'll have to tell John. Why can't I meet your family? It's not like you're my son or anything, that would just be creepy." Marty froze, looking over at Doc, who just shrugged his shoulders.

"Marty," said Doc, "I don't have enough plutonium for all the trips needed to take George," he glared at said person, who raised an eyebrow, "home. The best hope we have is for George to go back to his own time is for me to go into the future and modify the Delorean. He'll have to stay here for the time being."

George lit up. "Looks like I'll be staying with you, Cal-I mean Marty. Damn, that's strange." Doc just shook his head.

"We know George must get back to 1955," he said. "You're still alive, so that means our plan must work. I'll drop you both off at Lyons then go into the future. Marty, just be careful." Marty knew that Doc was slightly more relaxed about timelines, and knew that Marty wouldn't let the entire world cave in on itself. He had enough experience to prevent that.

"Well, looks like I'm staying with you, Marty! Great, let's go!"

* * *

The ride back to Lyons Estate was two things: squished, as the Delorean was a two person car, and tense. Never had Marty felt such hostility radiating off of Doc. Not even when he was late for the lightning strike in 1955 was Doc this mad. It unnerved him, and was not something he ever wanted to witness again, after this brilliant debacle was over and complete and preferably erased from memory.

George was by the window, exclaiming about something that was different from 1955 every two minutes. Marty decided that he couldn't really blame George for wanting to follow him into the futuristic, spacey car. His biggest interest, besides Lorraine, was science-fiction, and the Delorean oozed that from its design to contents. It was a time machine, you couldn't blame a blooming sci-fi writer for being fascinated.

George, on the other hand, was looking forward to meeting Marty's family. The knowledge that he was actually from 1985 was bit of a shocker, though looking at the clothes he was wearing and realising that the life preserver was actually filled with feathers, it wasn't such a stretch. The thing that was a stretch was coming to terms with the fact he was stuck thirty years in the future, marooned until Doc Brown upgraded the time machine he was currently in.

George shifted, moving away from Marty's elbow which was digging into his side. It was a car meant for two people, not three, one of whom was quite tall and lanky. At least he could say one thing. Their friendship was going last a long time.

Sniggering at his own joke, George asked, "So, Marty, where do you live?"

"Lyons Estate," was the terse answer. George looked very happy.

"You mean the nice new neighborhood in development? Well, at least you don't live in the bad part of town." Marty sighed. The place he lived in was commonly viewed as one of the not so nice places of town.

"I would consider you rethink what you call nice, otherwise we have very different opinions on it." With that, Marty stopped speaking until they pulled into the familiar driveway. George hopped out and looked around, feeling quite disappointed. Age had not been kind to this neighborhood, that was for sure.

The house in front of him looked nice, at least. Compared to the others on the street it could have been Midas's palace, or something like that. He wasn't sure what the sayings of 1985 people were, so deduced to try and pick them up.

Behind him, Marty and Doc had a conversation, in which Doc decided to stop being hostile and talk like he normally did with Marty.

"Just know that this trip is likely going to save the entire timeline, Marty," he said, before closing the door and driving off the street. Both Marty and George watched as the Delorean sped off and an almighty crack was heard, along with a burst of light. Marty was wondering how it didn't wake anyone on the street up, while George was dreaming about the possibilities that time travel could bring to his novel ideas he'd never shared with anyone.

Marty, clutching his skateboard, walked to the gate, opening it and slipping through. George followed.

"Okay, George, I have a camp thingy in my wardrobe that you can use to sleep on. You have to be careful that no one sees you while you're here." Marty hoisted up the window, chucking his skateboard through. He gestured to George. "Well, through you go."

Being careful not to ruin his suit anymore than it already was, George clambered through the window and tumbled onto the floor, which was covered in various strange items of clothing. Marty followed, somehow light on his feet, like this was something he did often. Now that he thought about Marty's character, it was likely something he did do, so it was well practiced.

"So this is your room," George commented, setting the jacket down on the first available, safe surface he saw. It wasn't a very good place, but it would do until morning.

"Yes it is, please don't move anything. It's an organised hurricane and I like it that way," Marty said, delving into his closet. George half expected clothes and things to come tumbling out, but they didn't. Marty chucked some clothes at him, a button down shirt and a pair of jeans. Going into a corner, George looked at the strange style of them before shrugging and quickly changing. His suit was carefully folded and put on a dresser that he cleared. Surely, Marty wouldn't mind if he put a few clothes on the ground. His shoes were tucked under the dresser as he turned back to Marty, who was currently wrestling with a sleeping bag, trying to get it out.

George snickered as Marty fell over. He huffed at George, before finally getting it out and laying it down. Marty chucked one of his own pillows down on it, and gestured to it. Tentatively, George settled down, going to sleep very quickly. He was exhausted.

That night, he dreamed of Lorraine and her perfect, blinding smile, stuck thirty years back in time. He would get back to her.

He hoped.

* * *

At 10:28 that morning, Marty and George woke up to a very ironic song playing on the radio. George shot up, squished between the bed and the wall, very dazed and confused. He looked around and ran his hands through his stiff hair, just now falling out of the amounts of gel he wore in it. He looked left and then right, frightened eyes surveying the bombshell of a room he was in.

He then saw Marty on the bed, slumbering in one of the most uncomfortable positions imaginable. The entire time machine debacle came back to him, hitting him like a mallet. George flopped back onto the makeshift bed he was sleeping in, which was very uncomfortable compared to his bed back in 1955, a year which he was immensely preferring to the current time and place. He guessed that Doc Brown would be back soon, and he could go back.

On the bright side, while he was here George could learn some stuff and predict the future in some novel he would write one day.

"Marty," he whispered, poking said person in the back after he stood up. "Marty, wake up." Marty snorted and lifted his head, eyes bleary.

"George, I had this nightmare where I went back in time and...wait. Oh, right, this is heavy." Having no idea what the saying meant, presuming that Marty ate too much, George gripped his hand and hauled Marty up into a sitting position.

"Yes, that happened. Now, what can we do about breakfast? I'm quite hungry, and toast would suffice," said George, trying to smooth down the long crumpled checked shirt he was wearing. The colours were not to his taste, and the cut was strange. _Well, each year to their own._

"Breakfast, George? We'll actually have to be really careful about that."

"Why? Usually eating food is a non dangerous sport, unless you eat something laced with arsenic."

"No, I don't want anyone to see you, they'll freak out and ring the police," Marty muttered, fairly sure he'd outlined that George couldn't be seen by any of his family or bad things could happen the night before. His memory was fairly unreliable at one in the morning, as it was for everyone.

"Well, I'll just wear my invisibility cloak, how about that?" George snarked. In the end, they deduced that George would stay hidden behind the counter while Marty went into the kitchen to grab toast and something else to eat. The menu was always sporadic in the McFly household.

Together they snuck out, George ducking down like he was in a spy movie. His blue eyes were glittering with excitement at the mission for breakfast, minor as it may be. Marty rolled his eyes and walked out in front of the small wall that kept the kitchen from view. He cast George one more glance before setting eyes on the scene in the kitchen.

He almost fell over.

This was not the scene he remembered. His brother, Dave was wearing a suit, and his sister Linda was eating a magnificent, decadent breakfast that certainly wasn't in the house yesterday when he woke up. Of course, it could be classed as a week ago, because of the time spent in 1955, but Marty wasn't inclined to think into the mechanics of time travel. It made his head hurt.

"What the hell is this?" he said, disbelief colouring his voice. Linda stopped with a spoon full of something midway to her mouth and flicked unsure eyes at him.

"Breakfast," she said.

"What, did you sleep in your clothes last night, Marty?" asked Dave in amusement. Marty shakily nodded his head.

"What, yeah, what are you wearing, Dave?" Marty was looking at Dave's suit. Dave never wore a suit, this was entirely new.

"Marty, I always wear a suit to the office. You alright?"

"Yeah," stammered Marty, wanting very dearly to turn around and get back in the Delorean. This was different, very different to what he was used to. Not that it was a bad different.

At that point in time, the door leading into the lounge opened and in walked Old George and Lorraine, who were looking way finer than when he had last saw them. His knees buckled and Marty found himself very close to the floor, where he could see George waiting for toast. When George flicked his eyes through the slats dividing the hallway and dining room, Marty was fighting the urge to smirk when a squeak escaped the awkward teen and he almost fainted, doing an exact mirror.

"Marty, are you alright?" asked Lorraine softly, walking over and helping him up. Marty was nodding his head over and over. He was alright, though he was having a dream where everything was changed.

Old George, Mr. McFly, however, skipped over the pleasantries. He dropped their bags, as it seemed they were back from a vacation of some sort, and walked over to Marty.

"Did you bring someone into the house? I heard a thump in the hallway and that usually means someone has come into the house, and I know it is secure." His voice was like steel, such a far cry from the usual image of his father he held that Marty almost fell over again. He would have, if it wasn't for Lorraine's arms holding him upright.

"No, no I didn't," croaked Marty. Doc was going to be so mad at him when he found out how he'd butchered the plan. It was simple. Keep your teenage father out of sight of the other four occupants of the house and you would have no problems whatsoever and it would all be fine and dandy. This new, older George obviously had wits and instincts slightly resembling steel if he was able to deduce there was someone in his house the second he returned from whoever knows where.

"I know you did. Whoever is there, you can come out, we're not going to hurt you," Mr. McFly sighed, looking at his son in disappointment. "It would all be fine if you just told us that you did. I'm sure whoever it is would like some breakfast and a drink of water."

Marty tried to signal to George to stay where it was, but the idiot decided to risk his entire existence and creep out from behind the wall separating the dining room, which Marty was about ready to put his fist through.

The reaction was instantaneous. Everyone froze when George stepped out, but Mr McFly was stumbling back, mumbling something about this being impossible, that it couldn't be happening. This was about the time when 1955 George took a good look at the retreating man's face.

George's eyes widened and he started walking back, also mumbling about impossibilities. Marty, on a split second decision, jumped in between them, to try and explain this situation into sanity, which wasn't likely to happen.

"Um, Dad, do you by chance remember someone in 1955 called Calvin Klein? Wore a red life preserver and a lot of shirts?" Marty asked, hoping against hope that it worked. Mr McFly stopped staggering back for a second and took a minute to look at Marty, hard. His eyes widened.

"You know about Calvin? You look just like him, now that I look at you. How is that?" Mr McFly was beginning to hyperventilate slightly, staring at the younger version of himself standing across the living room. Unsure how to handle the situation, Marty continued, his speech choppy and unsure.

"Alright, Dad, calm down," Marty pleaded, glancing between the two Georges. "Look, there may have been a kerfuffle with a time machine, and George may have ended up here in 1985 instead of staying at the Under the Sea dance or whatever it's called. It's not my fault you have an insatiable curiosity for anything sciency."

"This, this isn't possible," stammered George, backed up against the wall. Lorraine was gobsmacked, glancing between the two of them and then at Marty. Then realisation dawned on her face.

"That must be what Doc Brown was inventing, the thing that you were so frustrated he wasn't telling you about. But why were you in 1955 in the first place?" she asked, completely ignoring the two hyperventilating Georges.

"Timeline shit and stuff. Look, can we just forget this has ever happened? I actually need to go places, see people. Preferably take George with me." Marty poked his thumb at George behind him and nervously rocked on the balls of his feet.

"So that's why kissing you felt so wrong," mused Lorraine. Marty almost puked at the memory and decided to make a dash for it, grabbing George's trembling arm and dragging him out of the kitchen, through the door and into the front yard of the house, amid a cacophony of yells and demands to explain.

They made it out with seconds to spare, the red door slamming behind them.

Unfortunately, Marty didn't expect Biff.

Said person was currently half assing the waxing of the uncrashed BMW. Then Biff stopped waxing the car and turned to say something to Marty.

Biff didn't expect George.

"What the hell is going on here!" he exclaimed dropping the wax in surprise. George blinked twice, looking between Marty and Biff, before collapsing on the step. Biff began to snigger.

Marty shut him up.

Desperately, Marty slapped George's face before any of his family could open the door and ask questions. His hand left a red mark on his face. George rocketed up, too disoriented to do anything other than blink. Marty grabbed his hand and dragged him down the driveway, sprinting away from all the questions.

Halfway down the street, George stopped him by tapping his shoulders.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me that you're my son?"

Well, shit.

* * *

Marty slowed down, making odd gestures with his hands, suddenly very interested in a tree.

"What do you mean, George?" he stuttered, voice croaking. This was not meant to happen. Not at all. This was very, very heavy. He could just feel it weighing down on his shoulders like a...well...a weight.

George marched around in front of him, still uncomfortable in the clothes he was wearing.

"That man in your house, the one you called Dad, he was obviously me. His wife was obviously Lorraine. And now that I think about it, you look exactly like my grandfather, William. How did I not realise that?" George looked like he wanted to slap himself.

"Come one, George. Pull yourself together. How can you be my father?" Marty was stalling for time now. He knew he was the world's worst liar, and with someone as perceptive as George with him. No, George had already clearly put all the pieces together and was certain the ideas he presented were the right ones. To be fair, they were. It was just that Marty really didn't want to have to face Doc about the situation he currently found himself in. That would not be a pretty situation.

A hand flashed forward and slapped him on the cheek. Marty's head snapped to the side, mouth open in shock. Slapping was so unlike George he didn't even know what to say. His father was a gentle, kind man who preferred to rectify complicated situations with words. Then again, George had just punched Biff Tannen into oblivion in 1955, so slapping someone was a big step down.

"What was that for?" he asked. Marty moved his jaw up and down. He'd been hit hard. In front of him, George was glaring.

"Don't treat my like I'm stupid, Marty. I'm not a pushover. I saw what I saw and what I saw is true. Somehow, you're my son and I'm your father." He stopped for a second, shaking his head. "This is the weirdest conversation I've ever had. And I've had some weird conversations. So, tell me, McFly. How have things changed?"

Marty cursed. "I can't tell you anything. You know, general time travel stuff. The risk of blowing up the universe and all that shit." George looked very put out. The his face brightened.

"In your house, my house...wow, that's weird. In the house, my future self looked shocked. He obviously didn't remember this. He must have had his memory erased, I must have it erased sometime in the future. If that happens, it means that you can tell me everything you know. How about that?" George looked immensely pleased with himself. He reached up to straighten a bow tie that wasn't there, still thinking he was in his prom outfit, not this strange flannel get up.

Marty shook his head. Of course George would find a way around it. And then he figured: What the hell. Stuff the space-time continuum.

"Alright, then," he leaned started walking down the street at a casual pace. George made to catch up. "What do you want to know?"

"How is Science Fiction Theatre?" The question leaped out of George's mouth.

"That show hasn't been around since '57."

"No. It can't be."

"Afraid so, mate." George looked devastated. Marty chuckled. Trust his father to go into the future and the first thing he asks about is the television program he watches. "There are other science fiction shows out there, though. I've never watched it, but I'm sure you'd love Doctor Who. Oh, and back in the sixties there was this great one called 'The Twilight Zone'. No idea what it's about, but it sounds like it's right up your alley."

"I suppose it is just a television show. Okay, so where are we going exactly?" George asked, consoling himself on the loss of his favourite program. Marty stopped for a second. Just where were they going. Then an idea popped into his head.

"How about we go into town? It's quite different from the fifties, and I can say that, having been there."

"I saw a little bit the other night. It doesn't look very nice, does it?"

"Nah, you just need to know the right spots. I know a lot of them, though Strickland tells me to stop going to them and to buckle down about my work. He's a right pain, he is." George's eyes widened and he laughed out loud.

"He's still around? Thirty years later? Gee, what is he smoking?"

"Nothing. He's strictly against it."

* * *

It was safe to say that George was mostly interested in cars. They were far less grand than they were back in the fifties. Marty groaned. This was turning out to be one of the worst ideas he'd ever had. George asked question after question, ranging from who the president was to what people drank and why the clock tower wasn't working. It was beginning the grate of Marty's nerves.

"And what are these things boards with wheels everyone is riding around on? It doesn't seem to be a very efficient way of getting around, does it? Though maybe if you added rockets at the back they would be a tad more interesting.

"I remember you skating around here. That was one of the coolest things I've ever seen. Wait, skating. Are these things called skateboards. Oh, that makes sense. And this was where Biff crashed into the manure truck. That was really funny. I think that would be an example of karma, don't you?" Marty felt like bashing his head into a wall.

Maybe it would have been a better idea to keep George in his bedroom. No one ever went in there, they couldn't stand the mess or the smell. To Marty, there was no smell, but to everyone else in the house...there was no point arguing. George's nagging was a constant yatter in his ear, something he wished he could be rid of. If only Doc would come back soon with the Plutonium…

That wasn't saying he didn't enjoy spending time with George. He did. He just didn't usually speak this much.

"Hey, George, I have an idea."

"Yes, Marty?"

"How about I sit here and you have to go and find something, and gather facts about it from the locals?" He crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping he would gain a minutes relief. George seemed to be contemplating it, before nodding.

"That seems like a decent idea. You are obviously tiring of my company and questions, though I don't blame you. I'll give you a break by pretending I don't see through your scheme. Alright, what do you want me to find information about?" Marty chuckled, flopping down onto a bench in the town square. George could be very blunt sometimes. He wasn't complaining, though.

"Alright, how about the clock tower? Find out about why it isn't working." George nodded and bounced off. Marty breathed a sigh of relief. If only for a few minutes, he was free of nagging.

Unfortunately, they were cut in half when George rushed over and shook him violently. He fell off the bench, colliding hard with the bench. For God's sake.

"Marty, quick. Someone recognised me. What do I do? You're the expert on time travel!" George was panicked, speaking barely above a whisper. Marty snapped upwards. This was not good. This was very not good.

"What did you do?" he hissed. "Who was it?"

"I don't know. They just said I looked exactly like George McFly and I ran. In retrospect, it doesn't really make me look like I'm not, does it? I mean, I am me, but I'm not supposed to be me, I'm supposed to be keeping under people's radars, not running away when they say I look like me when I am me." Marty blinked, taking a moment to decipher the rush of words that had just jumped out of George's mouth.

"Come with me." Without question, George followed Marty, hair askew and eyes wide. Marty shook his head. The ducked into the cafe where Marty first saw his father as a teenager and sat down in the exact same place.

Unfortunately, the bartender was the same, a grizzled old man with sparkling eyes. Eyes which flashed with recognition.

"Hey, ain't you that sailor boy from 1955? I never forget a face, and I can never forget a lad wearing a life preserver off a ship. And you," he gestured to a very pale George, "I swear you look just like a lad I knew years ago. A pansy by the name of George McFly." Marty kicked George when his fist tensed up.

"I don't know what you're talking about. And this is my cousin, Gary. Gary is new to town, and happens to look just like George McFly." The man didn't seem to buy it. Marty sighed. "Can I just get two pepsis, please. We just want a bit of peace and quiet." The man grumbled but pulled out two of the fizzy drinks and slammed them down on the counter.

"I don't know what business you have looking like two people from thirty years ago. It's mighty strange. Worthy of a news story…" George held up a hand.

"Please leave us alone." The man chuckled.

"As you wish, your highness." He went back to wiping down the counter with a cloth that could have been cleaner. George sobered up.

"You know, this has been cool. But all I really want is to go back home. Lorraine is still waiting for me to come back from asking you to stay the evening. Isn't that odd to think about. I missed a dance with her by thirty years." George was looking very sad now, the excitement of coming to a new time zone rapidly fading away. Marty nodded. He could understand. Being stuck in 1955 wasn't a walk in the park, after all. It was only thanks to a lightning strike that he was back at all. Also thanks to Doc Brown's genius.

"Tell you what. I'll try and get hold of Doc. He should be back soon, though getting his hands on plutonium won't be a ride in the park at all. Last time he stole it off Libyans. You saw how well that turned out."

George turned to him. "Thank you. It really means a lot to me. I wouldn't expect you to understand…" Marty cut him off.

"Trust me. I do understand."

* * *

Unable to go back home, Marty and George found a phonebooth. There was the slightest chance that Doc was home, so there was no harm in calling him. It wouldn't hurt. Even if he wasn't there, it would give them a place he wasn't. That would help in their search.

"So how soon do you think I can go back?" asked George, jammed into the phonebox beside Marty, who grimaced.

"I don't know, George. Can you just wait a minute until this call is over? It's squished in here." George nodded and ducked out of the phonebox, leaning against the outside, nervously tapping his foot. He didn't like the eighties very much. Not at all.

The phone kept ringing in Marty's ear. No one picked up. Marty sighed and put the phone back on the receiver, pulling the door back and making his way outside to George, who leaped up.

"No answer, sorry. I guess the only thing we can do now is wait. He'll turn up somewhere. Doc does that."

"I really would like to go back, Marty," said George. "Lorraine is still waiting for me at the dance. Though I guess she won't ever be waiting for me, if we have a time machine. I would just really like to get back."

"And I understand that. Yeah, I really do. Think how I felt, stuck in 1955 with no plutonium and only a lightning bolt to help me get back to my year. I know this feeling, so don't treat me like I'm stupid." Marty really was getting frustrated now.

"Okay, no need to go off on me," retorted George. "I was simply expressing my desire. What if I don't get back? She'll forever think I'm a square, won't she." Marty put his head in his hand. This was really going to shit. If only George had just stayed at the dance, then everything would be alright. Everything would be normal. Well, as normal as life could be for a time traveling seventeen year old.

"Let's walk and talk. Yeah, that seems like it will work. You can get some of that anxiety out of your system?" George nodded and they both peeled away from the phonebox, walking nowhere in particular. "I know that you get back. If you hadn't I wouldn't be alive. Time travel isn't confusing, so it's best not to look too deep into it."

But George didn't reply. He was fixated on a man walking down the street towards them, in a hideous green tracksuit with white stripes. George was gritting his teeth. Marty groaned, grabbed George by the shoulders and wheeled him around, marching both of the quickly in the other direction. The last thing he needed was Biff Tannen messing with them in the Town Square again.

"Marty, I know that's you. I just want to talk. And is that George next to you?"

"I don't want to talk right now, Biff. Just leave us alone." Marty kept walking, though George was smirking. It made the younger McFly start. That was certainly a foreign expression on George's face.

"Aw, come on Marty. Just a few words. I'll even put another coat of wax on your father's car. That'll be something I can do right for once." Biff was getting desperate. Marty could hear it in his voice. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and turned around, making sure George kept his face away from Biff.

"I really need to go, Biff. I'm sorry, but can you just leave us alone?" Of course, Biff pressed on, seemingly unfamiliar with limits.

"I'm sure you can spare a few minutes. Who is that guy with you?" And to Marty's dismay, Biff walked around to the front of George and gasped. "Marty, this is George McFly. From 1955."

"You're damn right," growled George. He was still very angry at Biff for trying to rape Lorraine. Surely, one more punch thirty years in the future couldn't hurt the timeline. "And in my eyes, you just tried to sexually assault Lorraine. So excuse me if this isn't what you were expecting." He tried to throw a punch and almost made contact with Biff's face. He was stopped by Marty grabbing him around the waist and dragging him backwards.

"We can't do that," Marty hissed in George's ear. "Don't mess things up even more than they already are, alright?" George nodded, though his fists were still clenched. Marty looked up and groaned. The damage was already done, though. Biff was standing there, mouth agape, clearly trying to contemplate what the hell was happening.

"How are you here? That isn't possible. And now that I think about it, you look exactly like Calvin Klein, Marty. Aw, shit, this is too confusing." Biff began to walk towards them. Both Marty and George took and instinctive step back. "Don't walk away. I only want to talk." As he said this, Biff cracked his knuckles.

Desperately, Marty looked around and saw something that made him smile slightly. On a side road, in clear view, was a manure truck. D. J Jones Manure. It was always the same. So if he could somehow get Biff to crash into that….

No, that wasn't possible. There was no car or skateboard chase. He would have to find another way out of the situation. Calmly as he could, he started walking away from the confrontation, deep down wanting to punch the living daylights out of Biff. That wasn't something he could do, though.

The came the fateful words.

"Walking away McFly. You chicken?" Marty was cemented to the footpath now. No one could call him chicken and get away with it. No one. A plan began to form in his head. He leaned over to George and whispered:

"Get ready to run home." George nodded, though he also clearly wanted to turn around and initiate Operation: Smackdown.

"You aren't going to get away with that, Biff," said Marty.

"Oh yeah? And who is going to tell me off? Where's the teacher, butthead?" Biff lunged, reached for Marty's face. Marty dodged and began sprinting out of the square, heading for his home. It was now an option, to get rid of Biff.

And they ran, fast as they could, panting and puffing. Three pairs of legs pounded on the pavement, winding through the streets, until they were standing back in the driveway, Biff looking worse for wear. Sweat was beading on all three of their foreheads.

Before Biff could say anything, three booming cracks came out of nowhere, along with three blue rings to accompany them. They snapped through the air and before anyone could react, a freezing Delorean was sitting in Marty McFly's driveway, with a very shellshocked Biff right in front of it.

The gull wing door flew upwards, with Doc leaping out. His clothes were hideous, though that wasn't't the oddest thing. In his hand, he carried what looked like a blue toilet plunger, with wires sticking out the sides and winding up the handle. He sprinted over to a still shocked Biff and pressed it to his forehead. The sweaty man shook for a few seconds before falling to the ground, unconscious.

"Doc, what, what was that?" stuttered Marty. Doc whipped around and took in the two exhausted teens behind him.

"No time, no time. We've got to get George back to 1955 with his memory erased. Otherwise the consequences will be worse than we can imagine. The Universe could implode!" He ushered them into the Delorean, Marty and George uncomfortably sharing a seat.

"Surely that a worst case scenario?" asked George as Doc bustled around the car, throwing what looked like rubbish into the back of it. Doc leaned down and stuck his head in the door.

"Of course. But we can't hesitate." He almost fell into the driver's seat, setting the time circuits to November 12 1955, at the exact moment that George left the hall to chase after Marty. "Here we go." Without a word, he left the driveway.

"Doc, we don't have enough speed to get up to eighty eight miles here."

"Wait and see, Marty." The car seemed to jump into the air, and soon they were flying. George let out a strange squeaking noise, while Marty just shook his head. Of course Doc would manage to make the Delorean fly. It was such a Doc thing to do.

He glanced at the speed counter, and soon they were up to eighty-eight. The sky in front of them suddenly jumped to night. Doc lowered the car to the ground, in the carpark. Luckily, no one saw them. George opened the door, desperate to get back to the dance. Doc ran out after him, toilet plunger thing in his hand.

"I'm sorry, but you can't remember these events. The consequences could be catastrophic." Before George could say anything, he stuck it onto George's forehead. George shook and fell to the ground, then pulled himself up. His eyes were blank.

"Marty? How did I get out here?"

"No time, sorry, George. We have to go, but I'll see you again, I guarantee it."

"Okay. I was going to ask if you were going to come to the dance with Lorraine and I for a while, but it seems that that can't happen. That's fine. I guess this is goodbye for a while, then." George saluted both of them, before sprinting towards the school hall.

Doc turned to Marty. "Promise me nothing like this will ever happen again?"

Marty chuckled. "I can't guarantee that, Doc. I didn't even know he was in the car."

"Ah, what the Hell. At least everything is fixed." And in the distance, they heard a massive crack as the lightning bolt struck the tower.

"I guess I need to go back to the future. Again."

"That you do, my friend."

So, they both clambered back into the Delorean and traveled back to 1985, where everything was normal. George didn't remember anything, thank God, and Marty had a nice truck. Everything was fine, until Doc appeared in Marty's driveway again, going on about his kids in the future.

* * *

George ran as hard as he could across the carpark, not caring that he was wearing the oddest clothes he had ever seen, or that there was a massive hole in his memory. All he knew was that Lorraine was waiting for him and he needed to get to her.

* * *

_Found this old story and decided to post it. Hope you enjoyed._

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


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